I said what I said [Ruivo][Tuilë 3010]
Dec 26, 2018 11:27:15 GMT -5
Post by MITHIEL on Dec 26, 2018 11:27:15 GMT -5
Norochil has seen the devotion of his parents in his childhood, as he grew in the way of elflings, he observed and saw all was not well with his parents. Though affection was paid, always paid and he clearly saw their love towards one another, there was no marriage between them. There was something unsettling between them, a reserved distance. A wall that he coudl see, even as he grew there was no indication that marriage would ever take place, that marriage was an option between his parents. All of his friends had traditional families, but his own was not. He knew that he had been given up for fostering at just a few months old by his Naneth and that he was being raised by her cousin Ruivo and Mithiel who was Ruivo’s life partner. Quenyan had been Norochil’s first language and Sindarin his second and in either language he would question the convention of his parents.
No reason had even been given from Mithiel or Ruivo to Norochil as to why they did not wed, why they chose to live differently than other families. Why he was raised to speak Quenya first and why his parents worked in two different circles. Norochil had never understood as most of his family were smiths and married other craftsmen. There was a time when Norochil questioned Ruivo of why he stayed with his Ammë since she was not a crafter save with words and a needle. He had not understood that like did not always attract like. That sometimes, opposites made a stronger bond.
No matter how Norochil asked, he was brushed aside and he had grown angry with Mithiel and Ruivo both. When Mithiel had came to Imladris to reside, Norochil left soon after, unable to see the way his parents were separated from one another. Unable to handle the disconnect between them. The broken looks upon his ammë’s face and the silence in his atta’s words. Words that Ruivo would not speak. Just silence when asked of what happened with him and ammë. Always brushed aside for near a full age.
Hands pressed into the white desk. Fury burning in pale blue eyes. “And you still stay ammë? You would stay with Atta when he does not commit. Why Ammë?”Norochil questioned his mother who looked up from her writing a stack of invitations before her. “This matter is none of your concern Kalmarnáro” she began with a quiet voice. “You should be enjoying the spring hunt with the others” Mithiel suggested and Kalmarnáro glowered at his mother. Towering above her and his red hair braided back from his fair face. “Ammë how can you turn the other cheek. One does not do what he has done. It is a cruelty to you Ammë. Atto does not practice what he preaches. Aunt Canis was right”
Scritch, scritch, scratching. Silence hanging in the air as Mithiel’s eyes slowly rolled upwards. Steel nibbed quill still in her hand. “Thou will not speak another word Kalmarnáro, silence thy tongue and leave this chamber. Thy ill words are not wanted here. Thou who dains to question his Ammë! Question on matters he knows not, tis between thy Atto and myself! Do not again question the covenant of what lies between thy Atta and myself. Wise thee think thou are to mettle where thou young eyes know not of us. Elfling that thee still are.”
Kalmarnáro stared at his mother with darkening oculars. “After all this time Ammë, even when I have my own elfing on the way, you would defend the way Atto has treated you?” he asked as Mithiel held his gaze with the fierceness of warg. “Always will I stand at his side, Tis not for thou to question. “ Pausing as she plucked at silver threads which dangled from her wrist, plucking at the glimmer of silver that Norochil could not see. “Thou in thy age can not see these, but here is silver looped and wrapped. Coiled and knotted around mine wrist, trailing....these threads of silver lead to thine Atta. Blessed are we by Eru. Long before thou was born.”
Earthen red hair and blue eyes stared at Mithiel and she had to harden her heart at the face of her son. He looked so much like Ruivo, through the blood of his kin. The words of Celleth on the Tanfui’ night when the swaddled elfling was pressed into Ruivo’s arms lingered in Mithiel’s memory.
“He should have been yours” Celleth’s voice played in Mithiel’s mind as she stared at Norochil. A name that had never been fitting for the robust elfling of Ruivo’s family line. A fire wielder deserved a better name than what Celleth had called him. Mithiel had cast away that name with the gifting of Kalmarnáro. He should have been Ruivo’s, an alloy forged between the fire and mist. Her throat tightened as she stared at her son. Her greatest gift and yet at the same time, her torment. The reminder of what she lacked. Yet loved him as her own, she had. Where Celleth had failed to mother him, there was only Mithiel’s undying devotion to the elfling. To both of them.
In the early days of Norochil’s infancy, Mithiel had withdrawn from the life of a courtier to spend all the precious moments she could with their tiny elfling. In time Norochil would grow up with lessons of court politics as Mithiel returned to the limelight in court after a suitable time of being away to mother a near newborn that needed constant care. Mithiel educated Norochil as if he was not just a mere smith’s son but a lord’s. They had a promise to Celleth that he would be permitted to learn the craft of his kin but Mithiel saw it fit that he learn to be more than just a craftsman. She had been the driving force that saw the red haired elfling educated in ways that would otherwise have not been afforded to him.
“You does Atto love you, still Ammë?” Norochil asked as Mithiel gave just a glimpse, and he saw something in her eyes. A quietness, and just a smile. “What ellon has given me, what Ruivo has if he did not?” was all that Mithiel said and she walked towards the kettle that whistled on the fire. “Enough, we must have tea, and you must see to your wife. The elfling will come before too long.” Ever evasive in a way Norochil had never mastered, too hasty to perfect the skill. He had been well named. Child of firelight.
In truth, seeing Ruivo still standing where he said he would be had shocked Mithiel. Surprise was etched on her face, the surprise in her eyes not hidden. As her heart thrummed and her palms were sweaty at the thought that he would not be there. Thickly Mithiel swallowed and nodded. He was still there. Relaxing as his fingers brushed her cheek.
“No more winter” Mithiel agreed, “I had had enough of winter’s cold. I long for spring and ith it our summer”.
Summer.
Memories of solstices past flickered in her thoughts. Of diamond skies and poppy seed laced blueberry wine, of open aired ballrooms and glistening gems. Elves adorned with finery and Ruivo. Ruivo leaning against a wall in cream colored breeches with tall boots. With a tailored tunic of rich brown, trimmed in mustard hugging his frame. Of the light in his blue eye and the sweet taste of apple wine upon his lips. The warm spring days that had turned to summer’s sunshine. Of floating along the river Sirannon on a flat bottom barge towards the great dwarven kingdom, tagging along on an adventure to bring the mined gems back to Ost-in-Edhil. Of the chance to slip away with Ruivo and swim alone in the water with him, dress clinging to her frame and him against her. Summer.
Eyes flicked to Elladan and warmth brushed Mithiel’s ears, hidden by her hair. He was coming to shoo Fenion from the hall, chuckling in a nervous fashion. Looking at Elladan, to Mithiel was like looking at a younger version of his father, the young lord retreated and Mithiel nodded slowly when Ruivo ressured he was here. “Shall we go?” she murmured. For the first time in three ages, Mithiel would be seen without something on her neck as her arm slipped around Ruivo’s free one. Hand resting on his bicep. “Anew do we live Ruivo, not just exist but live. Joy for us both my fireheart.” Mithiel leading the way back towards the blackthorn.
No reason had even been given from Mithiel or Ruivo to Norochil as to why they did not wed, why they chose to live differently than other families. Why he was raised to speak Quenya first and why his parents worked in two different circles. Norochil had never understood as most of his family were smiths and married other craftsmen. There was a time when Norochil questioned Ruivo of why he stayed with his Ammë since she was not a crafter save with words and a needle. He had not understood that like did not always attract like. That sometimes, opposites made a stronger bond.
No matter how Norochil asked, he was brushed aside and he had grown angry with Mithiel and Ruivo both. When Mithiel had came to Imladris to reside, Norochil left soon after, unable to see the way his parents were separated from one another. Unable to handle the disconnect between them. The broken looks upon his ammë’s face and the silence in his atta’s words. Words that Ruivo would not speak. Just silence when asked of what happened with him and ammë. Always brushed aside for near a full age.
Hands pressed into the white desk. Fury burning in pale blue eyes. “And you still stay ammë? You would stay with Atta when he does not commit. Why Ammë?”Norochil questioned his mother who looked up from her writing a stack of invitations before her. “This matter is none of your concern Kalmarnáro” she began with a quiet voice. “You should be enjoying the spring hunt with the others” Mithiel suggested and Kalmarnáro glowered at his mother. Towering above her and his red hair braided back from his fair face. “Ammë how can you turn the other cheek. One does not do what he has done. It is a cruelty to you Ammë. Atto does not practice what he preaches. Aunt Canis was right”
Scritch, scritch, scratching. Silence hanging in the air as Mithiel’s eyes slowly rolled upwards. Steel nibbed quill still in her hand. “Thou will not speak another word Kalmarnáro, silence thy tongue and leave this chamber. Thy ill words are not wanted here. Thou who dains to question his Ammë! Question on matters he knows not, tis between thy Atto and myself! Do not again question the covenant of what lies between thy Atta and myself. Wise thee think thou are to mettle where thou young eyes know not of us. Elfling that thee still are.”
Kalmarnáro stared at his mother with darkening oculars. “After all this time Ammë, even when I have my own elfing on the way, you would defend the way Atto has treated you?” he asked as Mithiel held his gaze with the fierceness of warg. “Always will I stand at his side, Tis not for thou to question. “ Pausing as she plucked at silver threads which dangled from her wrist, plucking at the glimmer of silver that Norochil could not see. “Thou in thy age can not see these, but here is silver looped and wrapped. Coiled and knotted around mine wrist, trailing....these threads of silver lead to thine Atta. Blessed are we by Eru. Long before thou was born.”
Earthen red hair and blue eyes stared at Mithiel and she had to harden her heart at the face of her son. He looked so much like Ruivo, through the blood of his kin. The words of Celleth on the Tanfui’ night when the swaddled elfling was pressed into Ruivo’s arms lingered in Mithiel’s memory.
“He should have been yours” Celleth’s voice played in Mithiel’s mind as she stared at Norochil. A name that had never been fitting for the robust elfling of Ruivo’s family line. A fire wielder deserved a better name than what Celleth had called him. Mithiel had cast away that name with the gifting of Kalmarnáro. He should have been Ruivo’s, an alloy forged between the fire and mist. Her throat tightened as she stared at her son. Her greatest gift and yet at the same time, her torment. The reminder of what she lacked. Yet loved him as her own, she had. Where Celleth had failed to mother him, there was only Mithiel’s undying devotion to the elfling. To both of them.
In the early days of Norochil’s infancy, Mithiel had withdrawn from the life of a courtier to spend all the precious moments she could with their tiny elfling. In time Norochil would grow up with lessons of court politics as Mithiel returned to the limelight in court after a suitable time of being away to mother a near newborn that needed constant care. Mithiel educated Norochil as if he was not just a mere smith’s son but a lord’s. They had a promise to Celleth that he would be permitted to learn the craft of his kin but Mithiel saw it fit that he learn to be more than just a craftsman. She had been the driving force that saw the red haired elfling educated in ways that would otherwise have not been afforded to him.
“You does Atto love you, still Ammë?” Norochil asked as Mithiel gave just a glimpse, and he saw something in her eyes. A quietness, and just a smile. “What ellon has given me, what Ruivo has if he did not?” was all that Mithiel said and she walked towards the kettle that whistled on the fire. “Enough, we must have tea, and you must see to your wife. The elfling will come before too long.” Ever evasive in a way Norochil had never mastered, too hasty to perfect the skill. He had been well named. Child of firelight.
In truth, seeing Ruivo still standing where he said he would be had shocked Mithiel. Surprise was etched on her face, the surprise in her eyes not hidden. As her heart thrummed and her palms were sweaty at the thought that he would not be there. Thickly Mithiel swallowed and nodded. He was still there. Relaxing as his fingers brushed her cheek.
“No more winter” Mithiel agreed, “I had had enough of winter’s cold. I long for spring and ith it our summer”.
Summer.
Memories of solstices past flickered in her thoughts. Of diamond skies and poppy seed laced blueberry wine, of open aired ballrooms and glistening gems. Elves adorned with finery and Ruivo. Ruivo leaning against a wall in cream colored breeches with tall boots. With a tailored tunic of rich brown, trimmed in mustard hugging his frame. Of the light in his blue eye and the sweet taste of apple wine upon his lips. The warm spring days that had turned to summer’s sunshine. Of floating along the river Sirannon on a flat bottom barge towards the great dwarven kingdom, tagging along on an adventure to bring the mined gems back to Ost-in-Edhil. Of the chance to slip away with Ruivo and swim alone in the water with him, dress clinging to her frame and him against her. Summer.
Eyes flicked to Elladan and warmth brushed Mithiel’s ears, hidden by her hair. He was coming to shoo Fenion from the hall, chuckling in a nervous fashion. Looking at Elladan, to Mithiel was like looking at a younger version of his father, the young lord retreated and Mithiel nodded slowly when Ruivo ressured he was here. “Shall we go?” she murmured. For the first time in three ages, Mithiel would be seen without something on her neck as her arm slipped around Ruivo’s free one. Hand resting on his bicep. “Anew do we live Ruivo, not just exist but live. Joy for us both my fireheart.” Mithiel leading the way back towards the blackthorn.